The Struggle Is Real

chapter thirty one : where

this is honeslty a really weird story tbh

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My eyes slowly opened, a flash blinding me all at once. The light was insanely bright, causing my eyes to close right again. The inside of myself was so much more inviting than the outside world of cruelty. How could someone do such a terrible thing, when they had only just met one another?

I opened my eyes, once more, the light still blinding as ever. More came, showering me with rays. Sharp, pointy, metal tools flew at me, working. I knew what they were doing, but I couldn't bear to look.

The light still destroying my eyesight, I glanced over at Aunt Jen with pleading eyes. I couldn't speak, but if my eyes could, they would scream 'help me.' She stared deep into me and I knew she felt exactly what my eyes spoke of, yet she bowed her head and turned away.

She turned away from me.

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A mother sat in the corner, tears cascading down her face. Pale, her skin was. Her lips drooped into a expression that could only be categorized as loss, her whole facing seeming to drop lower and lower by the minute. Across the room, they worked. The doctors hovered over her litttle niece, the identical face of her dead sister was pleading for help. Yet she could not assist, it was all out of her reach. She had done everything she could; it was up to them now.

Timothy, known as Timmy to most, trudged toward the corner his poor wife sat, slumped in the waiting room chair. There was nothing she could do to assist the helpless child. There was nothing any of them could do. The child was helpless, and so were they. Comforting arms reached out to him, the sadness and worry shone bright on his face as well. He sunk into the hospital chair once more.

Turning to the woman, he realized the struggle of her situation, a sister, brother-in-law, and now a neice? Their near identical faces struck Timmy as charring to the heart. He clenched his jaw to keep from tearing up, and gripped his wife's shoulder to comfort her.

"I can't lose her." Jen said, tears streaming down her face. 

Timmothy lifted his head, eyes intent on his wife, her salted cheeks stained. He opened his mouth slightly, as to speak, and hung his head, when nothing came out. He attempted the action again, only to fail once more. What to say? What to do? This, of course, was not the first time, and definately not the last this had happened. Marilyn's twisted history all played huge roles in what they would all call, the worst days. 

The worst days were something they could not control, something they could not help.

"You must always remember, my dear, there are things, in life. These things, we may not control. These things may be the good, the bad, or the ugly. But these things, you see, are all for a reason." Timmothy stated as he walked out the door, resembling his wife as a tear slid down his cheek as well.

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a/n ahhh guys ik this sucks and i've been trying to update but i've been really busy & we're redoing half of our house so there's a bunch of workers here and THEYRE REALLY LOUD HOLY CRAP SHUT UPPPP k bye thanks